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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27056725">The Word of Your Body</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/justasparkwriting/pseuds/justasparkwriting'>justasparkwriting</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kim Namjoon - Fandom, RM Namjoon, rm - Fandom, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Insecurity, Oral Sex, Size Difference, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Weight Issues, plus size</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:48:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,897</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27056725</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/justasparkwriting/pseuds/justasparkwriting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kim Namjoon has fallen in love with a plus sized American woman... What happens when the insecurities come to the surface?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kim Namjoon | RM &amp; Reader, Kim Namjoon | RM &amp; You, Kim Namjoon | RM/Original Female Character(s), Kim Namjoon | RM/Reader, Kim Namjoon | RM/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Unpretty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>“What is going on?” Namjoon asked, setting his phone on the coffee table and gingerly placing a leg underneath him so he could face you as you paced across the living room.<br/>“I look like, I look like a fucking whale,” You declared. The tears began prickling at the corners of your eyes and you blinked quickly to try and dissipate them.<br/>“Babe, you look beautiful,” He reassured.<br/>“Joon, stop.” You said, voice trembling.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>           Your face fell as you sat on the couch in your hotel room, staring at the picture you had asked Taehyung to take of you and Namjoon. You didn’t have any photos of you and your boyfriend, largely because paparazzi and Army didn’t know you existed. Which is how it had to be, and how you wanted it to be. But staring at the two of you, his arm around your waist, smile across his lips, you just stared.</p><p>           “It’s a cute photo,” Namjoon said, plopping down next to you.</p><p>           “Is it?” You asked, swiping to bring up the next photo. “Oh god,” You said in disgust.</p><p>           “What’s wrong?” He asked, zooming in on the photo.</p><p>           “Look at us!” You said.</p><p>           “I see it, I like it,” He said glancing away from your phone.</p><p>           “Well, yeah because you look hot 100% of the time,” You said, swiping to the next one. “Why did he take so many, and all of them suck?”</p><p>           “You look beautiful 100% of the time, and those photos don’t suck.”</p><p>           "No, I don’t,” You responded tossing her phone onto the couch.</p><p>           “What is going on?” Namjoon asked, setting his phone on the coffee table and gingerly placing a leg underneath him so he could face you as you paced across the living room.</p><p>           “I look like, I look like a fucking whale,” You declared. The tears began prickling at the corners of your eyes and you blinked quickly to try and dissipate them.</p><p>           “Babe, you look beautiful,” He reassured.</p><p>           “Joon, stop.” You said, voice trembling.</p><p>           “I don’t know where this is coming from,” He replied, staring at you. His eyebrows were knitted together, unsure what his next move was supposed to be.</p><p>           “I just, I was looking forward to a cute photo of us, our first nice one, not stolen when you’re half asleep or doing something cute… Instead, I feel blind sighted by you and the whole fucking world,” That’s when the dam broke, tears cascading down your cheeks. You quickly wiped them on the sleeves of your favorite sweatshirt. It was baggy, ragged from a decade’s worth of comforting you in the darkest moments, it’s crinkling writing showing its age. Luckily the black sleeves didn’t show the betrayal you felt towards your body.</p><p>           “How did the world get brought into our photo?” He asked, still trying to find his place in your disdain.</p><p>           “Namjoon, what happens when the world sees us together? What happens when they know about me?”</p><p>           “I don’t know, they’ll be happy,” He answered. He’d thought about it, in terms of his contract and protecting her privacy. But the world seeing a photo of them? Wouldn’t they just be focused on how beautiful she is?</p><p>           “No, Joon. Part of Army will be happy. Part of them, a small part, will be encouraging others to be happy because you’re happy. The rest will be commenting on me,” You inhaled, trying not to deter your thoughts with the recognition that you're entering into a Kerry Washington style monologue. “They will be commenting on how I look. On how I dress, on why you don’t buy me nicer clothes. They’ll be sharing post after post about how you, Prince Namjoon, leader of their beloved, beloved, BTS, could be hand in hand with a woman like me.” You took in another quick breath, knowing if you breathed again a sob world overtake your entire body.</p><p>           “Babe let’s not think the worst,” Namjoon said, scanning your face for a sign of what he could do to help. He always thought Taehyung and Jung Kook were the most helpless members of BTS. He knew full well that many others thought he should be added to that group, particularly when it came to love and romance. Watching you pace, watching you try to hold in your cries, reminded him that they were right: he was clueless.</p><p>           “It’s the truth, Joon! What do you think will happen?”</p><p>           “I, I don’t know,” He sighed. Admitting he hadn’t thought about it was worse than admitting he knew the reality. “I just want to protect you.”</p><p>           “They’re going to eviscerate me,” You stated.</p><p>           “No, they’re not,”</p><p>           “I’m a plus sized, biracial American. I don’t know what the Korean war was about, but Miss Saigon traumatized me as a child.”</p><p>           “Isn’t that about Vietnam? Madame Butterfly is Vietnam,” Namjoon held back a laugh.</p><p>           “See! I don’t speak Korean. I clearly don’t understand the culture! I barely understand your music. I’m not white enough, I’m not black enough, I’m for sure not Korean enough. I have spent my entire life knowing that I have to work twice as hard to be thought of as half as good. Even then, my opportunities are given to me because I fit a quota, or I sound white enough to pass.”</p><p>           “Those are so many of the reasons I like you so much, I mean, not the passing part, I don’t know much about that,” Namjoon trailed off as he realized he probably needed to become more educated in African American history, at least to understand his girlfriend.</p><p>           “It doesn’t matter, Namjoon.”</p><p>           “Why doesn’t it? I think you’re beautiful. I think you are sexy and honestly, it’s a fact. The fact is, you are beautiful. Stunning, your eyes, your heart…”</p><p>           “Do you know what it’s like to feel unpretty? To feel ugly?” You asked, arms tight across your chest.</p><p>           “I, yes,” He said.</p><p>           “To be told by every film, every magazine, every doctor, that your body is wrong. To walk through life with people giving you glances when you eat a cookie, wondering if you’re already diabetic, applauding you when you exercise, shaming you when you can’t fit into a size large. Do you know what it’s like, to try on clothes and realize they don’t carry a size that fits your body? And having to tell the sales associate that no, you don’t want the bigger size because it doesn’t exist?”</p><p>           “Babe, I’m so sorry,” Namjoon stared. He didn’t know the photo Taehyung took would open you bare.</p><p>           “To wear your retainer for 15 years to ensure your face is still pretty because your body isn’t?” You felt the sob before it roared out of you, tears sending you to your knees. You hadn’t planned on baring you soul to him or parading your insecurities around like a diamond engagement ring. It had just overwhelmed you, not just the photo, but the thought that someone could find it. You were confident that Big Hit was doing their job to ensure your safety, and Namjoon’s, but there were people out there bent on finding the cracks in BTS. The idea that a private moment, a photo you really did love, would be tossed around, sent to gossip mag after gossip mag, commented on by millions, crashed into you like a train. So here you sat, on the floor, tears and snot barreling down your face.</p><p>           “If they don’t tear me apart because I’m not Asian, they’re going to tear be apart because I’m a fucking size 18.”</p><p>           “Then, why don’t you work out with me?” He gasped the minute the words came out of his mouth and scrambled to sit next to you on the floor. “I didn’t,”</p><p>           “No, you didn’t.” You looked up at him, not realizing he was now next to you, arm beginning to pull you to him. “I don’t want to fucking exercise with you. Look at you! Would you want to?” You made an excellent point, “Oh wait, you already do with the 6 other members of BTS. I saw the way they looked at me, Joon. When I first met them… They looked at me like I was another American stereotype. The fat black girl. And I’m fucking not,”</p><p>           “I know you’re not baby, you’re so strong, and flexible,” Namjoon said, peppering kisses on your cheek.</p><p>           “Don’t try to turn this into sex,” You responded, touching your ear to your shoulder in an attempt to sway him from kissing the exposed skin of your neck.</p><p>           “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say other than I love your body.”</p><p>           “I love my body to,” You said.</p><p>           “I love that it houses you, your brain, your thoughts, your sense of rhythm, your laugh.” He smiled as he continued, “I love how it feels in my hands, cuddled next to me on the couch, your hand in mine. I love that it holds your heart, your kindness, your empathy, your deep understanding of others. I love that it holds me, when I need it, when I’m falling short, it never turns me away, no matter how long I’ve been gone from it.” He kissed your temple, grateful that you let him hold you so close.</p><p>           “I am really flexible,” You said, tilting your head to meet his lips.</p><p>           “You do Barre, which I have done twice and never again because I couldn’t walk the next day! You tap dance! I still don’t understand how you make those sounds with your feet. And, baby you sing.”</p><p>           “I can sing… Mostly,” You said nodding. Your singing was something Namjoon knew, and only Namjoon. You barely opened your mouth in front of the other members, unless it was to rap a song you knew 100%. That was one of the first things Namjoon had fallen in love with, the fact that you could spit Kendrick Lamar lyrics better than he could.</p><p>           “Your body is amazing,” He whispered.</p><p>           “Joon, I love my body. I love myself. I am my own best friend.”</p><p>           “I know, which is why I’m so lucky you share it with me,”</p><p>           “I’m smart as hell, I’m funny as shit. And, let’s not forget: my charm.”</p><p>           “So much charm, more than Jimin,” He said, smile creeping back onto his lips.</p><p>           “I’m not willing to open myself to criticism or put you in a position to defend me. I am strong on my own. I will not be shamed for my body or my looks or some superficial comment from someone I don’t know. But I’m scared that they, Army, columnists, paparazzi, media in general, is going to find a way to weasel its way into my psyche and make you see me differently or make me see myself differently. I’ve worked my entire life to love my body and I am scared that they will take it from me,” You said, the temporary drought having been good to your tear ducts, giving them time to refill their stores to surplus.</p><p>           “I know that feeling,” The crimson of his sweatshirt had leapt to paint streaks across his cheeks.</p><p>           “You do?” You whispered.</p><p>           “Of course. You haven’t read our contract… But we’ve been a band for over ten years? You’ve seen the tweets, you’ve seen the look changes, the outfits… I have spent ten years next to Taehyung and Jung Kook, not to mention Suga and Jimin or J-Hope. How can you forget Mr. Worldwide Handsome? I know what people say, I can’t help but hear it. At first, it was hard. It was hard to conform, to create an image that I didn’t feel like I belonged to. It’s still hard. What do I have going for me?”</p><p>           “Joon,” You kissed his cheek briefly.</p><p>           “I hear what you’re saying, about how others view you. They view me too, with criticism and judgement. Korean beauty standards are out of this world. I don’t have the features that they love, that they praise… And I know it. They make sure I know it. But I get to live my dream, I get to create music and support my family because of the band. I get to do it with my brothers, and it makes me feel strong, because I am.”</p><p>           “Do you feel sexy? Or handsome?” You asked.</p><p>           “Sometimes,” He said, interlocking your fingers.</p><p>           “Joon, babe,” You straightened your back, staring into his eyes.</p><p>           “I feel that way because you make me feel sexy and wanted. You like me no matter what my hair is, or what I’m wearing, or if I’ve spent two hours at the gym,” The crimson returned, this time in result of your kind words, and turned into a blush, gentle and sweet.</p><p>           “All those things you like about me?” You cooed, a hand under his chin, tilting it towards you.</p><p>           “Yeah?” He questioned, eyes meeting yours.</p><p>           “I like those things in you, too,” You said.</p><p>           “It’s hard though,” He responded.</p><p>           “Namjoon?” You asked.</p><p>           “Yes?”</p><p>           “Thank you,” You squinted your eyes, memorizing the way his expression relaxed.</p><p>           “For what?” He wondered.</p><p>           “For listening to my insecurities and not belittling them,” You said, squeezing his hand.</p><p>           “Honestly, I was worried I was fucking up the whole time,” He let out a chuckle.</p><p>           “No, you did great. And thank you for sharing yours with me.”</p><p>           “Thank you for listening,” He met your gaze.</p><p>           “In case you’re curious, you’re sexy as hell, and not only because your body is banging,” You said kissing him quickly and standing up.</p><p>           “Where are you going?”</p><p>           “I need to wash my face, too much snot and tears. You want to join me?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Strip</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Oh, you do? Is that why you want to go to the gym with me? To watch my ass when I do squats? To see my fat jiggle on the elliptical? To ogle me while I’m stretching?” <br/>"I want all of it," He said.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You sat at your vanity, plucking a stray chin hair that your fingers had stuck to like a cactus to dry heat. You set the tweezers down, tossing your hair into a tight bun before grabbing the make-up remover and slowly removing the paint you had placed on your skin. As you began to wash your face, you heard Namjoon enter, making his way through the bathroom to the closet to grab his gym shoes. Through squinted eyes and blurred vision, you made out his basketball shorts hanging dangerously low on his hips, an oversized t-shirt covering his broad shoulders. </p><p>	“Babe, do you want to go to the gym with me?” He asked, lightly smacking your ass on his way to sit on the edge of your shared bed. He carefully loosened the laces of his gym shoes before tucking them carefully into his gym bag.  </p><p>	“Why did you ask me that?” You questioned, turning the faucet off and delicately pressing a clean towel to your freshly washed skin. You shook your head. He was truly helpless.</p><p>	“I thought we could bond, work out together,” He said, standing and setting his gym bag just outside your bedroom door. </p><p>	“I worked out yesterday,” You said, scanning his body through the mirror as you applied your eye cream and azelaic acid to your problem areas. </p><p>	“Yes, but you could come with me today, too,” He strode to you, slipping his hand under your shirt to rest against your bare skin, his chin lowering to rest on your shoulder. </p><p>	“Why?” Indignation was your favorite attitude, particularly when it came to teasing Namjoon. </p><p>	“Working out every day makes you feel – </p><p>	“No, it makes you feel,” You corrected, finishing applying your double layer of moisturizer. You turned in his arms, only to point a finger into his chest. He smirked down at you, eyes darting to your lips. </p><p>	“I just thought we could spend some time together at the gym,” He responded, bringing the finger that was in his chest to his lips. He kissed it softly and let you drag it across his bottom lip. </p><p>	“Oh really?” You asked, taking your finger from his lip to place it between your own. “Or are you trying to tell me you don’t like my body?” </p><p>	“What? Of course, I,” He was caught off guard by your shift in tone, was this not just flirting? </p><p>	“What? You want me to work out with you, so do you not like my body? Or do you just tolerate it?” You smirked, the shock on his face feeding into your ego. He wouldn’t make the connection between you washing your face, a sign you were not going to the gym at 7PM, and you blatantly subverting his attempt to get you under him. </p><p>	“I think you’re beautiful, and sexy, and so strong,” He said, trying to make sense of the game you were spitting. </p><p>	You called them fighting words. Words meant to rile him up, to start something. Neither of you used them in your average couple squabbles, but when you wanted to dominate, you often cornered him into submission. It was more rewarding to circumvent Namjoon’s expectations than to ask him for what you wanted. </p><p>	You shoved him back, pushing him out the bathroom and back into the bedroom, where his knees buckled as they hit the side of the bed. It was then that he realized what you were doing. </p><p>	“Oh, you do? Is that why you want to go to the gym with me? To watch my ass when I do squats? To see my fat jiggle on the elliptical? To ogle me while I’m stretching?” </p><p>	“I want all of it,” He said. </p><p>	“Ah, so now you love my body? How softly it envelopes you, how it holds you tight? You love my stretch marks? That place on my knee where the razor never seems to get? The freckles on my neck? You love all of it?” </p><p>	“I love all of it, I worship it,” He gulped, Adams apple bobbing. </p><p>	“Oh you do?” You straddled his lap, grinding into his crotch, pleasantly surprised to feel it already hardening. “Prove it.” </p><p>	He flipped you over in the middle of the bed and held your hands above your head as he rolled his body into yours. He moved one had down your cheek, cupping your face as he lowered his lips to yours. His lips were plump and soft. He’d begun using your Chapstick every night before bed in an attempt to copy how soft your lips were. He’d grown accustomed to it and was pleasantly surprised when he left for tour and you’d given him the rest of the jar to use. </p><p>	Namjoon used those lips to slowly suckle on your neck, moving towards the collar of your t-shirt. </p><p>	“Start at the bottom,” You demanded, hands pulling at the hairs on the back of his neck. “And take your shirt off, slowly.” </p><p>	He knelt at the end of the king-sized bed and removed his shirt in what you could only describe as a strip tease. He rolled his body and flexed his muscles, highlighting the work he had done in the gym. </p><p>	“Stop showing off.” </p><p>	He froze and stared down at your clothed body before slowly laying down, hands moving to your hips. </p><p>	“Pants only,” You stated, squirming at his cool touch on your hips. His hands guided the cotton of your joggers down your legs inch by inch. With every inch exposed, he placed sloppy kisses to your left thigh, his left hand kneading the supple skin. His teeth grazed over your knee, fingers tickling the erogenous zone behind your cap. He continued down your leg and paused at your feet, tickling the underside before slowly lowering his lips over your big toe. </p><p>	Toes were a kink of Namjoon’s, specifically sucking your toes. He loved mimicking the motions of sucking your clit, swirling his tongue around the tip of your toes, hollowing his cheeks as he did so. You’d never been into toes before, having yours sucked or sucking others. But with Namjoon, it was always a pleasure. </p><p>	He moved from your left foot to your right, slowly repeating the process in the reverse order, all the way back up your right leg. </p><p>	“I love your thighs,” He said, massaging them in between kissing and sucking your inner thighs. “I love how they feel wrapped around my head. I love how they hold me to you when I’m fucking you. I love how they quiver and shake and when I do this,” He leaned his body up, pressing his lips to yours while slipping his fingers into your underwear. His index finger stroked up and down your folds, once, twice, three times before dipping into your center. His tongue simultaneously found its way past your lips, tangling aggressively with yours. </p><p>	You moaned into his mouth while your tongues danced. Open mouthed and violent, you continued to kiss as he slipped two more fingers in. You turned your head to the side, chest heaving. His name slipping in between your moans. </p><p>	“Namjoon, please,” </p><p>	“Please what?” He asked, a smug smirk on his face. His hand slowed down as he removed two of his fingers. His thumb, which had made its way to your clit, stopped circling as he stared at you, mouth open. “What do you want me to do?” </p><p>	You snapped your head to him, eyes glowering. </p><p>	“If you can’t make me cum, move and I will do it myself,” You said. “Or did you forget that you are worshiping my body?” He hadn’t noticed your free hand was gone from his hair until it twisted his nipple, eliciting a gasp and moan. “So if you think you can, take off my panties and prove it.” </p><p>	Namjoon scrambled down your body again, removing your underwear and tossing it towards the hamper. His tongue licked up your folds before a hand moved to separate your lips. You spread your legs further, giving him better access to your sex. You arched your back as his tongue began to swirl around your clit. He alternated between sucking the bud and gliding his tongue over it in a figure eight, if a figure eight could be done in seconds and send your body to nirvana. Your free hands moved directly to your nipples, which stood at attention waiting for someone to bring them into the action. You pinched and twisted, trying to mimic the feeling Namjoon’s hands did. </p><p>	You continued to moan his name, whimpering as he slowed down and sped up the minute your breathing seemed regulated. You had zero self-control when you were alone. Your vibrator could send you over the edge two, three times in one session. But it wasn’t the same as feeling Namjoon between you, the tongue he used to spit rhymes and whisper his love for you made his devouring of you even holier. He could edge you for days, months even. Teasing each other before he left for Korea, bringing each other close to the brink before he was gone touring for endless months. The pent-up tension made your reunion sweeter. Even when he edged you in the smallest sense, like tonight, made your release that much greater. </p><p>	There was no magic number, no pattern to when he would bring you close and pull back. You’d tried to calculate it, tried to keep track how many times before he let you cum. All you’d discovered was Namjoon could be vindictive or repentant, kneeling at your altar and offering a sacrificial lamb or delivering you to Pontius Pilate.  </p><p>	He rode out your high by continuing to draw smaller figures over your clit, pushing you closer and closer towards overstimulation. When your grip had loosened in his hair, he sat back on his haunches and used the hem of his shirt to wipe his face before he pulled it over his head. He licked his lips quickly, humming as he tasted you again. You sat up, breathe returning to normal but heart rate still high, and tossed your shirt off, leaving your breasts bare. Namjoon reached into his shorts to stroke his clothed member while he finished sucking you off his digits. </p><p>	“Did I say you could touch yourself?” You asked. He froze slowly taking his fingers out of his mouth.  </p><p>	“No,” Blush painted his cheeks. </p><p>	“So why are you?” You demanded. </p><p>	“I-</p><p>	“You will be lucky if I let you cum near me.” You said. </p><p>	“I’m sorry,” </p><p>	“Don’t be sorry, fuck me.” </p><p>	He pulled you onto your knees, lips entangling and hands gripping your ass. He bucked his hips against you, trying to find any sort of friction. He could feel the precum dampening his shorts and prayed you were only joking about letting him cum. He didn’t care if you made him jerk himself off, or allowed him to dry hump until he came in his pants, so long as he could cum. </p><p>	“I love your breasts,” He mumbled, lightly kissing your neck before drawing his teeth across your collarbone. He moved one hand to twist your nipple, before laying you down and taking it in his mouth. His name spilled from your lips, your hips searching for his as your core tightened. </p><p>	“I love how they feel in my hands. I love how they bounce when you ride my cock,” He moaned as you continued to grind into one another. He kept his pattern of drawing figure eights over your nipples, his hips still trying to gain traction with yours. </p><p>	“Baby, please,” He whined, unwilling to cum in his shorts. </p><p>	“Please what?” You asked, eyes glossed over. </p><p>	“Please, can I fuck you?” He asked pressing his forehead against yours. </p><p>	“Only if you come inside me, and you let my thick thighs hold you against me,” You said. He sat up and slid his shorts down, carelessly tossing them in the general direction of your own clothing. He moved to the top of the bed, back against the headboard, and beckoned you to sit in his lap. </p><p>	“I want to worship you while you ride me, give you the attention you deserve,” He said attaching his lips to yours again. Gripping the headboard on the sides of his broad shoulders, you spread your thighs onto either side of his lap and slowly moved your lips against his dick, coating it with your fluids. </p><p>	“Fuck, I love when we don’t need lube,” He mumbled against your lips, kissing you hard. </p><p>	You had caged him in, mentally and physically, your arms and thighs working to hold his muscular frame into space. The anticipation of your cunt around him, the promise of cuming, and your dominance over him was the only thing keeping him from losing it. And it was beginning to not work. </p><p>	You slowly lifted your hips, a hand moving from his cheek to his shaft, guiding him to you. As you slowly lowered yourself onto him, your eyes locked onto each other’s, both feeling like nirvana was close as he entered you. The stretch of him and the warmth of your core elicited curses and moans from both of your lips, mixing together into a sloppy kiss, teeth gnashing, tongues seeking each other out. He moaned your name, tightly closing his eyes and giving into your control. You pulsed your hips down onto his cock, moving up and down, an inch at a time. </p><p>	“Baby,” He moaned, eyes already blissed out. </p><p>	“Hmmm?” You teased. “You said you loved my body… Do you love how I control you? How my thick thighs hold you into place? Are you getting off on my stretch marks? How my body moves to fit you, big boy? How my workouts have given me the strength to take all of you, however I want?” </p><p>	He knew your hundreds of Barre classes could be used against him, all the squats, strengthening your quads and back body. But you hadn’t ever used them like this, mimicking movements from class as you moved up and down him, slowly building his orgasm.</p><p>	“I love all of you, every stretch mark, every roll, every part of you, fuck, you feel so good.” He was barely holding on. You had stroked his ego in just the right place and it caused him to start to buck his hips into you. </p><p>	His eyes snapped open as you began to move more quickly, taking more than an inch of him at a time. His hands instinctively went to your ass, where he squeezed and spanked it, turning both cheeks red. He moved his lips from your collarbone to your nipples, sucking and teasing them. </p><p>	“Namjoon, I need you,” You said, head lolling back as you felt your orgasm nearing. You needed more from him, more stimulation, a harder touch. He moved his mouth from your chest to your lips, and slipped a hand between your body’s, finding your clit instantly. He rubbed harsh circles as he felt you clench and tighten around him, calling out his name repeatedly, escalating in pitch and frequency as your orgasm reached its peak. You felt him twitch underneath you, moaning into your mouth as his orgasm came, overwhelming any sense he had left. He called your name as his thrusts up became sloppy and uneven. You rolled your hips a few more times, ensuring every drop of cum had made its way into your body, before rolling off of him and onto your back. He stayed seated, head against the headboard, chest rising and falling quickly as he tried to regulate his breath. </p><p>	“I love your body,” He said, glancing down at you. You moved your arm off of your face and stared up at him. </p><p>	“Thick thighs save lives,” You responded, smiling broadly at him. </p><p>	“Don’t you for a second think that using fighting words about your body is ever going to work again.” He said, sliding down the bed and pulling you to his chest. </p><p>	“Never say never, direct quote, Justin Bieber,” You said, still smiling. The blush and embarrassment of using your insecurities to wield power in the bedroom wasn’t something you did, ever. You felt instantly embarrassed that he’d recognized it. </p><p>	“I’m serious,” His smile faded, his voice low. </p><p>	“I know, Joon,” You nodded, closing your eyes as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. All was forgiven. </p><p>	“Good, because I do love your body, so much. I can’t wait for the day when I get to watch you swell and grow because you’re carrying our baby,” Namjoon whispered, hand on your cheek. The sincerity in his eyes said enough: he loved your body at every size, every shape, for what it could do, and for what it already did.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(first time posting smut... so... be nice)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. You're Gonna Be My Bruise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“You can borrow something,” Namjoon said moving past you into the closet.  </p><p>	“No, I can’t,” You snipped. You tried to move your soaked shirt in a way that both covered you and kept some of the wet parts off your body. You looked and felt ridiculous. </p><p>	“Why not?” He asked, slipping his shirt off. He looked at you quizzically.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Been noodling with part of this for a few weeks... then the Weverse was posted...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was on a Saturday in October that Namjoon took to Weverse to declare the results of his most recent physical. He questioned himself as he wrote it out, would Army care? Does Army want to know his fitness goals? He’s proud of his body, proud of its growth and ability to perform high energy, high powered dances while spitting bars nearly as fast as Yoongi. Not to mention his brain but being an intellectual came easy to him. Namjoon wrote his post, sharing with Army that he was working out 5 days a week, on a diet and pushing himself harder than before. He wanted his body fat to be at 10% or lower, a full 5% less than his current state. He wanted Army to be proud of him. To see his dedication to them and to himself. He couldn’t preach love yourself, as you are, to Army if he didn’t believe it. </p><p>	Once it posted, he set his phone down and went to make dinner with you. </p><p>	You didn’t look up when he came into the kitchen. Your eyes were glued to your phone, having received the notification that Namjoon had posted. You read the translation quickly before turning the music up and trying to push it from your mind. </p><p>	You were delighted by your body. Namjoon loved your body. But the shame from his post started to wash over you as you moved through the kitchen, nodding at whatever he was saying. You turned quickly, bumping into him, spilling the warm contents of the pot all over your shirts. </p><p>	“Fuck!” You yelled, the hot liquid hitting your stomach. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” </p><p>	You reached for the kitchen towel and realized it was no use. You haughtily stomped off to the bathroom to try and rinse some of it out before it stained. Namjoon followed behind you, needing to change his shirt too, and frankly concerned that you’d gotten so upset. </p><p>	“You can borrow something,” Namjoon said moving past you into the closet.  </p><p>	“No, I can’t,” You snipped. You tried to move your soaked shirt in a way that both covered you and kept some of the wet parts off your body. You looked and felt ridiculous. </p><p>	“Why not?” He asked, slipping his shirt off. He looked at you quizzically. </p><p>	“Because,” You responded, eyes down cast, trying to blink the tears away. </p><p>	“Because?” He stepped closer to you, gently placing a hand under your chin. He wanted to see your eyes, to see your heart. What had happened that had made you afraid of showing him yourself? </p><p>	“It won’t fit,” Your voice was only audible to him because he held you so close, unwilling to let you hide. You can hear him taking a breath, realization hitting him. </p><p>	“Do you want to run home and get something- </p><p>	“No, Namjoon, whatever, it’s fine,” You said as you started to move away from him. </p><p>	“Babe, I didn’t mean- </p><p>	“I know you didn’t, I’m not mad,” Your voice wavered. </p><p>	“Then what are you?” He asked, sitting on the bed. </p><p>	“Embarrassed,” </p><p>	“Don’t be, baby,” He tried to pull you to him, but you stepped back. </p><p>	“How can I not be, when you’re posting about how you’re at almost at 10% body fat and I’m living in a body that’s three times that! How can I not be embarrassed when I come to my boyfriend’s house and I can’t even borrow clothes when I need to?” Your voice filled the bedroom. The furniture absorbed what it could, taking every decibel down a peg to soften the reality that you were throwing at Namjoon. </p><p>	“I, I don’t know what to say. I love your body; do you want me to prove it to you?” </p><p>	“No. I just, maybe I need to go home. Sleep it off,” </p><p>	“I don’t want you to,” He said. </p><p>	“There’s nothing that you’re going to say that’s going to make me feel better. There’s nothing to do tonight, I’m upset and I’m feeling really fucking insecure.” You leaned against the wall, pausing to look at your boyfriend. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes were fiery and defeated. He didn’t know what to do, and you could tell that he was trying to negotiate with himself. Concede to something he didn’t think he needed to, and comforting you by reenforcing things you already knew. </p><p>	“I,” You sighed. “There is nothing wrong with you wanting your body fat to be so low, to work out five times a week, that is what you choose to do with your time and your life. You rap and dance for hours. Our bodies are always going to be different. I just, I wasn’t expecting you to post something so…” </p><p>	“So what?” Namjoon asked. He didn’t feel bad about his body, and about his fitness. He felt bad that you were upset, and he wouldn’t take it down. </p><p>	“Vulnerable, and just, I’ve never seen anyone be that open except when Taylor Swift said she’s healthier and happier at a size six instead of double zero… People talk about weight loss journeys, not fitness journeys. It caught me off guard,” You said, sitting down next to him. </p><p>	“It’s hard work, and I’m really trying. I want to be as fit as I can be, for BTS, for me… I’m trying to see how far I can go.” </p><p>	“I know, and I admire you so much for that.” You said.  </p><p>	“I feel insecure too,” Namjoon responded. </p><p>	“Tell me about it,” You said, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting your head against his shoulder. </p><p>	“You know I don’t fit the traditional beauty standards… You know what people say,” </p><p>	“Namjoon, I have no idea what people say about you other than you’re sex personified, and holy shit have you seen his thighs? Oh, and your smile,” You said.<br/>
Yes, you were part of the BTS Army. Yes, you read the thirst tweets and shared the kinkiest fan fiction with him, sometimes to recreate it, sometimes to watch him become increasingly uncomfortable… yes you know thousands if not millions of people wanted Namjoon in the ways only you knew. But BTS hate wasn’t anything you’d looked into or read about. Not because you were dating Kim Namjoon, or that you thought the hate would seep into how you viewed your lover, mostly because who the fuck cared? You knew Joon’s heart, what made him laugh, what made him feel loved. That’s what mattered to you. </p><p>	“To be tall, have a strong jaw, a European nose… Double eyelids, to be rich and intelligent,” </p><p>	“Aren’t you most of those?” You asked, curious how he could not be any ones ideal. Had they seen Namjoon? His eyes? That smile? His laugh. The spread of his hands, the way he tilted his head to the side, how he curled into himself when he was cold? There were many days where just the sight of him breathing sent you into a frenzy. Not to mention when you discussed politics, finance, religion, love, anything and everything. There was nothing sexier than Kim Namjoon’s intelligence… except him stepping out of the shower. </p><p>	“No, I don’t have all of them. Think about it, Jin is the most traditionally handsome member of BTS. He’s literally Worldwide Handsome, if you look at us together, I don’t compare.” </p><p>	“So, you’re focusing on something you can control?” </p><p>	“I, yes,” </p><p>	“Your strength.” You filled in his thought. You could feel him nod, his inhale rattling against you. </p><p>	“Look at Jung Kook,” </p><p>	“Okay,” You turned your body to face him, tucking a leg underneath you. He did the same, and placed a hand on your thigh. </p><p>	“He spends hours working out, perfecting his body, meticulously learning dance moves.” </p><p>	“Joon, do you want to do that?” </p><p>	“I,” he sighed. “I want to be the best version of myself, physically, mentally.” </p><p>	“I want to be that for myself too. I’m worried you’re comparing yourself too much,” </p><p>	“How can you not?” </p><p>	“I mean, yeah you’re surrounded by six other stunning men. Of course you’re going to compare yourself. But, Joon, don’t forget they’re human too, they’re all flawed.” </p><p>	“I know, I just,” He looked down. You knew he was searching for the words. Writing lyrics were one thing, but expressing his intimate thoughts were another. </p><p>	“What?” You prompted, moving your hand to cup his cheek, thumb rubbing over his cheek bone. </p><p>	“I can’t help it.” </p><p>	“I don’t want you to work yourself to the bone, Namjoon.” </p><p>	“I won’t,” He held your gaze, a silent promise. </p><p>	“You could hurt yourself or do permanent damage.”</p><p>	“I’m being smart,” He reassured. He was. They had trainers and instructors. He knew how to safely use the equipment… but that’s not what you meant. </p><p>	“That’s what Jung Kook thinks, and Jimin. How many times have they gotten hurt because they’ve pushed themselves too far? I’m nervous that you’re going to push and push until there’s nothing left.” </p><p>	“I won’t,” He promised. </p><p>	“Promise me,” You whispered. “I love you.” </p><p>	“I love you too,” Namjoon said before lightly placing his lips on yours. </p><p>	“Can we toss this shirt in the wash?” You asked, pulling away. </p><p>	“Are you going to walk around in your bra?” He asked, immediately excited by the idea. </p><p>	“Yes, it’s cute.” You said, pulling your still wet shirt over your head. </p><p>	“You’re trying to tease me?” Namjoon feigned shock. </p><p>	“No, I’m trying to find a good solution, because you don’t want me to leave, and I was really looking forward to spending the night with you.” You responded, tossing the shirt at him. </p><p>	“I have shirts that will fit you.” Namjoon said, standing. His statuesque figure staring down at you made you feel all types of ways. </p><p>	“Maybe, but what’s worse is trying them on and them not fitting at all and having to tell you that.” You said moving towards the door out of the bedroom. </p><p>	“Do you want to try?” He offered. </p><p>	“Why don’t I go see what’s left of dinner, and you can rummage for a few options, and I’ll mosey on back to see what you’ve found. If they don’t work, I’ll just hang out in my bra while my shirt is washed.” </p><p>	“That’s a plan,” He responded. </p><p>	“And then, after you’ve done the dishes, you can take my bra off, shirt or no shirt.” You winked. </p><p>	“Can I fuck you on the counter?” He called after you, smile on his face. </p><p>	“Oo, think you’ll have the strength after I blow you on the couch?” You laughed, your rolls jiggling along with you.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Seriously go read the Weverse post. (Kim Namjoon is his own person. Insecurities are you know mine).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Holy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Namjoon didn’t believe in God, or god, or Him. He didn’t believe in a higher being, a power that created and decided the fate of all peoples. There was no Buddha, Allah, Brahma or Vishnu. No shabbat or Holi or Ramadan. He didn’t believe in any of it. Army was King and Queen, Empress over his fate and his life. He didn’t feel anything around Easter or Christmas, there was no desire to bow his head and pray over a tragedy. He didn’t feel guilty for every sin committed, or anytime an “oh my god!” crossed his lips. He didn’t feel like there was anything moving his life forward except for BTS and you.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Namjoon didn’t believe in God, or god, or Him. He didn’t believe in a higher being, a power that created and decided the fate of all peoples. There was no Buddha, Allah, Brahma or Vishnu. No shabbat or Holi or Ramadan. He didn’t believe in any of it. Army was King and Queen, Empress over his fate and his life. He didn’t feel anything around Easter or Christmas, there was no desire to bow his head and pray over a tragedy. He didn’t feel guilty for every sin committed, or anytime an “oh my god!” crossed his lips. He didn’t feel like there was anything moving his life forward except for BTS and you. </p><p>	When he had asked you to marry him, he felt an inkling of what prayer was. There was nothing he wanted more than to marry you, to create a family, to live his days intertwined with yours. He was positive you were going to say yes, but he found himself wishing and hoping for your answer amidst the ten seconds it took before you responded. He didn’t realize it was prayer, nor did he think his hope that you would say yes would be constituted as a form of worship. But on bended knee, in the few seconds before you answered, he offered it up.  </p><p>	Your resounding yes sounded like an alleluia on Easter morning, a sensation he had experienced with you a year prior. He didn’t understand it, but he felt it. </p><p>	“I don’t understand why you participate in it,” He said, drinking his coffee at your favorite local breakfast spot the day after his first Easter service. The two of you had come to your home to spend the holiday with your family, which meant showing him where you grew up and yes, bringing him to church. </p><p>	“Why?” You asked, sipping your coffee. </p><p>	“It, it doesn’t make sense, why would you believe in something that’s so, cynical?” He wondered. </p><p>	“The religion you’re speaking of and the religion I subscribe to are two different things,” You said. </p><p>	“How?” </p><p>	“Because the religion your speaking of is God as a vengeful, omniscient dictator, demanding sacrifices, demanding life, wanting fees and fines designed by man to prove your loyalty to capitalism, not to God. The God that I believe in, that I celebrate, is merciful. He fights for what is right and just, for equity, for love.” </p><p>	“Like Sailor Moon,” He smiled. </p><p>	“Without the talking cat,” You winked. </p><p>	He hadn’t understood what you meant until you’d given him a copy of your favorite book, which detailed the life of Jesus and his wife, Ana. It wove the notions of Jesus as savior with Jesus as man and expanded his understanding of what a savior could mean. It wasn’t that he suddenly believed in religion, or had faith, because he didn’t. Reading your favorite book had only made him fall more in love with you and made his understanding of religion murky at best. He did admit that he could see its place in your life and accept it for what it was. </p><p>	The second time Namjoon had prayed was when you took your last pregnancy test. Conceiving wasn’t easy, and he beat himself up every time a test came back negative. You tried to dissuade his fears, tell him that it took time, it wasn’t going to happen the first time you had unprotected sex. He knew he wanted kids; he knew he wanted kids with you. The inability to get you pregnant for two years, even with increased hormone treatments and meticulous care placed on both of your bodies, he felt like he was exhausting all options. Every choice he was making led to further disappointment when the test came back negative. </p><p>	Why couldn’t his body do the one thing it was designed to do? Was it the dancing in tight pants? Was it working out too much? Riding his bike too often? Why weren’t different positions, different times of day, number of orgasms leading to the creation of life that was half you, half him? </p><p>	He found himself scrolling through his phone, looking for any sort of solace when he came across a quote you had typed into his phone’s notes for when he felt nervous. You said it every time you had an interview or presentation, a Bible verse imprinted on you during adolescents. As he read the words, the idea of prayer came into his mind… he quickly looked up how to pray before closing his phone. Wasn’t the point that you didn’t need to have a formal way of asking God for help or guidance? Dejectedly, Namjoon bowed his head, closed his eyes and let the words flow out of him. </p><p>	Namjoon’s heart soared when you took your first positive test. It nearly erupted at your first sonogram. The thump-thump-thump of your child’s heartbeat had been like angels singing. You had created a life; you were going to have a child together. Maybe with his eyes and your nose, or your heart and his mind… Either way, he had heard a chorus echoing every time he saw your bump and felt your baby kick. </p><p>He couldn’t reason with himself though, did he now owe God something because whomever it was had fulfilled his prayer? Would he have to baptize the baby, offer it up on an altar like Abraham or split it in two like Solomon? Was God holding a grudge against him now because he hadn’t exalted him fully? </p><p>	He had borne his soul to you shortly after your eighth month. His conscious was weighing heavy. </p><p>	“I need to tell you something,” He said, sitting next to you on the couch. </p><p>	“Okay,” You said, setting your phone face down on the coffee table. “What is it?” </p><p>	“I, I did something, and I don’t know what to do next,” He couldn’t tell if he was ashamed, nervous, or bashful. Would you laugh or be surprised or lovingly tell him it was okay? </p><p>	“What did you do?” You asked, cautiously. </p><p>	“I,” He sighed, “I prayed.” He glanced up at you through his lashes, gauging your response before proceeding. </p><p>	“Okay, and?” </p><p>	“What am I supposed to do now? Do I owe God something? Is our child a sacrifice?” </p><p>	“Well, what did you pray for?” You asked. </p><p>	“A baby.” </p><p>	“Namjoon, look at me,” You said lightly. </p><p>	“What?” He reluctantly lifted his gaze to lock with yours. </p><p>	“I did too,” You smiled.</p><p>	He felt the baptismal waters crash down on him. </p><p>	“You did? Oh, fuck. That, that makes me feel better. Do, do we have to do anything?” He reached for your hands as you laughed. Your baby kicking at the movement in your body. </p><p>	“We can say a prayer of thanksgiving, but that’s not really how God works.” You said. </p><p>	“I’ve read articles, and books, and the expectation that you offer something up to God in thanksgiving is everywhere. He grants a prayer and you give thanks. I’ve spent the past seven months trying to figure out what that thanksgiving is supposed to be.” </p><p>	“Namjoon, why is this bothering you? You don’t normally adhere to organized anything,” You said intertwining your fingers. </p><p>	He nodded his head before speaking. “I’ve never prayed about anything, but I needed solace, someone to listen. I was scared to tell you or the guys because I don’t believe in it, but I did it anyway.” </p><p>	“That’s what faith is. It’s throwing your hopes and fears up and believing someone will catch them. Be it fate, or karma… or God or Allah or Krishna… it’s hoping that something will move the chips in your favor, and knowing you’ll be okay if it doesn’t.” You answered, lightly squeezing his hand. </p><p>	“Do I owe anything?” He whispered. </p><p>	“No, that’s not how God works, at least in the evangelical sense. Just, be a great father, and an excellent husband, and your actions will show your thankfulness.” You said, moving his hand to rest on your belly, baby kicking excitedly as Namjoon’s hands held it gently. </p><p>	“That’s it?” </p><p>	“God doesn’t want for much, Namjoon.” </p><p>	He had spent the next six weeks studying books on organized religion, alternating between writing lyrics for BTS, unpacking the idea of GOD, and preparing for the baby. He read every parenting book, went to every class and watched birth video after birth video. He took to your body like the gentiles took to John the Baptist, following its every inkling, tending to it with care. He prepared baths and scheduled massages. He gingerly placed lotion on your growing belly, and proceeded to rub natural remedies on your cervix, anything to make your eventual labor smoother. He kneaded your growing breasts and never hesitated to help you tie your shoes. God had smote the Egyptians for worshipping their golden calf, and here Namjoon was, on his knees, singing exaltations to your growing form. </p><p>	The third and fourth time Namjoon prayed was when your water broke, and with it came an excessive amount of blood. You had rushed to the hospital and were diagnosed with late term placenta previa, a condition they should’ve caught earlier. Upon examination, you were rushed into a C-Section, and as he sat clutching your hand, tears streaming down your faces, Namjoon braced himself for the worst possible outcome. He prayed diligently, every second you were in surgery, every moment he wasn’t whispering to you or kissing your hair, he prayed. </p><p>God, Jesus, Allah, anyone… Please let my wife be safe. Please do not take her or our baby away from me. Please let us live our lives together. Please let them be okay, please, please, please. </p><p>He offered up penance, a term he’d learned reading about the evolution of the Catholic church. He’d offered up his career, his bandmates, his money, his time. Anything he could trade to keep you and your baby. </p><p>Namjoon had thought he’d heard a gospel chorus whenever he saw your bump or felt the baby kick. It wasn’t until his child took its first breath and let out a cry, that Namjoon realized the crescendo of expectation, fear, relief and hope raking through his brain was the angels, singing the Halleluiah Chorus, proclaiming the birth of the savior. He could see it, you Mary, the unassuming mother of the Christ child, him Joseph, a lowly craftsman, the doctors, the shepherds, guiding life into the world. </p><p>As your tears turned to joy, Namjoon muttered to himself, “Unto you a child is given.”  </p><p>It was past midnight when Namjoon finally had a minute to breathe. He held your new baby securely in his arms and glanced at your peacefully sleeping form. The past 48 hours had been a whirlwind. You were recovering from a C-Section and unable to lift or move much. On the one hand, you were relieved. You were emotionally exhausted from a traumatic labor, and physically exhausted from undergoing a major operation. Bed rest was welcomed as your body began to heal, from the nine months it had spent growing life, and as your hormones began to fall and rebalance. On the other, you wanted to spend every second staring at your child, guessing what they’d be like, wondering if their eyes were shaped like your husband’s or yours. Smelling their head for that new baby, fresh on the planet scent, and memorizing every feature. </p><p>Namjoon was grateful, it gave him time to spend with your child, knees deep in fatherhood. He could carry your child everywhere, sing to it, love it, create a strong bond before he would eventually be pulled to tour. He was savoring every diaper, every midnight feed, every coo and cry. He couldn’t imagine life before your child was born, and he wanted to cherish every millisecond he had with you both.   </p><p>He hummed to your baby quietly and again glanced at you, your milk had slowly started to come in and leak onto your shirt, or rather, a tour shirt of Namjoon’s that you’d kept every time he left home. He remembered the day you fought over him not having a t-shirt in your size and been pleasantly surprised when he had found this one in some drawer. Over the years it had become your comfort object. You kept it at his place indefinitely, and once you’d moved in together, had insisted he wear it before he went on tour to capture his musk. What had started as an argument over insecurities had blossomed into one of your favorite traditions. </p><p>	As he watched you sleep and was soon lulled by the sounds of your child’s breathing, Namjoon reminded himself that he didn’t believe in God. He didn’t believe in paradise or an Eden. He believed in the life you two were building together. He believed in your child. He believed in the love you had created throughout your relationship. God, Allah, Vishnu or not, the life you shared was confirmation that divinity existed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That's it! Check out Peace and a new fluffier, smuttier series starting soon!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story is mine, insecurities are mine, but Kim Namjoon is his own person.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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